Everything
by cupidity11
Summary: 'I'll find out everything about you, Zim'-Room with a Moose. Dib realizes that he has exhausted his knowledge on Zim and prepares to turn him in. ZaD f-r-e?


Overheated computers illuminated the grungy chaos of my room. Opaque Cerulean shadows over the ripped out, discarded detailed sketches and scribbled notes. The light tickled the edges of walls, plastered by many long forgotten posters, disintegrating newspaper articles and more drawings. It poured over me. The brightness was nearly blinding this time of night. 3:09 am to be exact.

For what felt like the hundredth time, I removed my rounded glasses to rub the sleep out of my eyes. How annoying. There was no time for naps, no time for even the littlest respite from my careful observations.

Replacing the glasses, a yawn fought its way up my throat only to be kicked, gut punched and shoved back down again. I was stubborn. And though many people probably wished I was less so, it always came through for me. Especially back in my rather gawky, teenage years when freezing drizzles, record breaking blizzards and ravenous canines used to try to smoke me out from my rather non-inconspicuous spot in the bushes outside my enemy's electric green base.

Over time I'd learned the weaknesses, spotted the tiniest flaws in Zim's defenses and snuck through them, planting spy cameras and hearing bugs. Of course many of them had been discovered almost immediately, where they were destroyed in the most ridiculous manners before being deposited at my door the next morning.

However, four still managed to remain undetected, nestled among rigid metal wires, images of obnoxious, oddly colored monkeys and even in the expansive underground laboratory where Zim spent most of his time. Many a night had been spent in front of my computer, watching the little screens and documenting every single thing that the alien did. Quickly I learned that Zim did not require sleep.

Which was why I was up again, lasting as long as my body would allow for the tenth day in a row. Sparing a momentary glance at my notes, it was no surprise when I saw the page was blank. Nothing had been written tonight. Not even about the strange dog/little robot's recent shenanigan involving stuffed turkeys, a jazz violin and ten pounds of water colors. Obvious. The little fella was going to have a party. Probably fill the underground pool area with the colors, eat the turkeys and have his pig friend play the violin.

Leaning back in my rather uncomfortable seat, blood shot eyes still didn't move from the screen where the Invader was doing something strictly devious with a bunch of chemicals. Predictable. A rather toxic compound but would be easily combated with my iodine.

There was nothing written because as I had once yelled so long ago, while hanging from a tree branch, I had found out everything about Zim.

Everything. On Tuesdays he would be extra flippant, more hostile than usual on account of the weekly call to the Tallest being on Mondays at exactly 7:10 pm. It would renew his resolve; give Zim more stuff to think about, more plans to devastate the earth.

He had a severe phobia of germs, made obvious by the fact that Zim never used the restroom anymore, nor did he touch anything public unless for necessity. Always walking around everyone, careful never to let their persons even so much as brush. And every day after skool, if I got home in time and if we hadn't brawled that day, you could watch the monitors as he scrubbed his flesh with a anti-septic/paste mixture of his own creation.

Even though the alien claimed to be a genius, I knew that he had problems with math, as of the numbers didn't quite make any sense in his head or pak for that matter. But, at science he was brilliant, the best in the class, even, though I hate to admit it, me.

Speaking of Pak, it was defective. I knew this with more than absolute certainty. But, only because it had told me. When I'd stolen it from him, it latched onto me and for a few minutes I was Zim, knowing everything he knew, and some stuff he wouldn't or had repressed. And even now some hints of that inconceivable knowledge still exists inside of me.

Zim liked to be dominant. In everything from fights (the angles he held himself, chin raised, trying to look taller), when he was partnered with anyone at skool (the work was always done by him alone, the other person having experienced some sort of mysterious accident), even with silly small arguments (Slamming the locker closed, stomping off, always having the last word even if it was stupid).

Although the little hot head pretended to be confident he had much insecurity that if spoken aloud brought out an almost catastrophic rage in him. For example; his height (four feet, six inches, three centimeters), the little off black, incredibly sensitive antenna on his scalp were uneven (the left one is two point six centimeters shorter than the right one) and lastly the fact that he wasn't really an Invader.

Yes, I know about that as well. A defective, exile who is supposed to be on a medium sized planet three galaxies from the Milky Way, serving snacks to all sorts of races. His mission is a big fat lie. Which I guess in turn makes my life one too.

All this time I'd been trying to save mankind from an unknown alien invasion that would never happen. But, deep down I still wanted recognition, still needed to be looked up to and be given every single scrap of gratitude and apologies possible by my own people. And exposing the menace that lives a block away in a freaky, metal apple green house would be the perfect way to achieve that.

But, first came science. I had all the time in the world now that Zim wasn't going anywhere, now that I knew he wasn't a huge threat. So why not take the time to learn everything there was to know about him? Discover every single little fact and tidbit to this complicated extraterrestrial's existence.

And that had been my new mission for the past four years. It had been easier said than done, seeing as Zim was 118 years old with over fifty life forms across the universe seeking revenge on his head. Aside from Tak and Sizzlor, they'd been visited by Hiujan the 10th, Bob Jun, Lorkalinana, Invader Tenn, and a few little Vortians that had been easy to get rid of. As always we fought together to save earth, to reclaim our little non-existent war. I had fought to keep learning about him.

But, now, sitting in the dark thirteen years to the day of first meeting Zim, I had reached my goal. Nothing he could do now would surprise me. The only thing left to do now that my insatiable curiosity was quenched was turn him into the authorities using the weaknesses I now know he has.

It would be easy. Just mix in water with the gross soda he drinks. Lodge a rock into the back pink dot on his Pak. Hell, I could press the nerve on the left side of his neck and have him down on the ground in a blink. I could've done all of this nearly two months ago. Because two months ago was when I'd realized there was nothing left to learn about my arrogant nemesis.

I could turn him in and receive the fame. Finally be known by all who had once mocked me, called me insane, be known as the discovered of alien life. It would be marvelous. Everyone would know my name and not even my father would be able to top that. He would be proud, finally.

So why wasn't it? There was nothing left here. I had closets full of notes, sketches, pictures, practically a book dedicated to knowledge on this little pipsqueak. Was I stilling waiting, hoping he did something that would once again surprise me? Impossible.

Or was it because deep down I feared what would happen should I turn him in? That I would be bored, that my life would be meaningless without constantly observing him, without knowing he too had some little spy cameras in my home (one on my window, the other in the living room on the lamp shaped like my father) and was always watching me too? No…maybe. But, that was nothing. I could live with those feelings. The important thing was that mankind knew.

Sighing, I switched windows on my computer screen, blinking a bit when the colors changed and my eyes had to readjust. My fingers clicked rather roughly against the keyboard. Time to alert the Swollen Eyeballs, time to pull through on my plan. Time for the world to finally realize what I had done for them. Time to turn Zim i—"BOOM!"

The speakers on the side of my desk groaned with the vibrations nessacary to broadcast the noise that came from the monitors. Hastily I switched over to the cameras where the screen was foggy with smoke. What the hell? Maybe the chemical had exploded? That seemed likely.

Classic Zim. Shaking my head I went to go back to the window and froze. The screen was clearing up, smoke from the destruction dissipating to reveal something shiny. Something huge, a bloody red color, and glossy as a dangerous new toy, like the often villainess light in Zim's eyes when he tried to do something evil.

The smoke had all but cleared and in its place I could clearly see the floor was broken, rubbles, metal strewn like discarded play things by a temperamental child. Like whatever this giant machine thing was had broken through the many levels of Zim's base.

Taking my eyes from the massive, uh whatever it was I searched for Zim and found him in the bottom of the fourth screen. He was smirking, arms crossed, looking directly at the camera as if he'd known about it the whole time. There was something not right here, not right at all. It gave me goose bumps. There was that familiar gleam of loathing in magenta eyes, lips pulled back to show off the zipper-pink teeth.

"Still know everything, Dib-Rot?" Rot, eh? That was a new one. A new one? A leap of what could've might've been excitement rose within my chest, like a yawn but better. Maybe it was hope. I had no idea what the machine was. I didn't know what it was for or how long Zim had been planning this. It eluded me as to how Zim knew this camera position. Why the new name?

I would find out. Soon. No time to waste, sitting here. Absently I exited out of the Swollen Eyeball's webpage, turned off my internet completely, before skidding backwards out of my chair, accidently up heaving many piles of junk that meant a lot to me and not to anyone else. From the atrocious crashing sound, something had broken.

I would be upset about that later. Throwing on my trench coat, shoving my stupid large feet into scratched up combat boots; there was no time to worry if I would need a weapon, or a camera. Charging down the stairs, throwing open the front door I tore down the street, finding it rather hard to breath. I also couldn't care about keeping the blatant smile off my face.

Something new. An excuse to keep fighting him. Looks like I didn't know everything after all.


End file.
